Unlocking the Door
by WhyAye
Summary: Hathaway & Hobson suspect there is more to Lewis's recent unreliability than a bad mobile, & it comes in a bottle. But Lewis has a long & tough journey ahead and can't succeed without the help of his friends. Ch4 is for diehard Lewis/Hobson shippers only!
1. Rock Bottom

_The doors of Hell are locked from the inside.  
__-- C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain_

* * *

Detective Sergeant James Hathaway clicked off his mobile. Still no answer. He exhaled slowly. He'd have to make his own decision about what to do with the information he'd received earlier that Friday evening and hope for the best.

He'd been unable to reach his governor, Detective Inspector Robert Lewis, for several hours. In the past, it had been unlike Lewis to be completely out of touch, but maybe something had come up. Again. Seemed like this was the third time this week when Hathaway couldn't find or phone Lewis. And a couple times the week before that, as well. Very uncharacteristic. Maybe there was something wrong with Lewis's mobile, battery too weak to get a decent signal or such. He'd have to check that in the morning.

* * *

The following Thursday, Hathaway set down his guitar with a happy smile. Even after just an hour, they were really sounding good on that new number. He felt as if his fingerboard were just an extension of his hand and the music flowed effortlessly. The whole band felt the glow of being totally immersed in the music.

And then Hathaway's mobile rang. Another suspicious death. _Damn!_

He relayed the call to the inspector.

"Yeah, Lewis."

"Sir, there's a body, over on the Banbury Road. So I hope your plans for the evening aren't ruined, as mine are."

"No plans here. Only, can you give us a ride? I've had a glass or two of wine and I don't think I should drive."

"Sure, no problem, Sir. You okay to work?"

"Oh, yeah, it's just, I don't want to take the chance with driving, y'know?"

Hathaway pulled to a stop in front of Lewis's flat, and Lewis came out to the car, pulling the door open. Hathaway noticed he wove a bit when negotiating the drop into the seat of the car, and he landed unsteadily, not squarely in the seat. It took him three tries to successfully get hold of the car door to close it, and Hathaway could smell not wine, but brandy on his breath.

"You sure you're okay, Sir?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"You seem maybe a bit tipsy, is all."

"'Tipsy'?" He smiled as if it were a joke. "I'm _fine_, Sergeant. Let's go see that body, shall we?" He seemed a bit puzzled at Hathaway's concern.

He wasn't much better at getting out of the car, but while walking around the cordoned-off area, he appeared steady and perfectly normal.

But the pathologist at the scene, Doctor Laura Hobson, had known Lewis a long time, and she saw the difference in him. She approached Hathaway.

"He's a bit in his cups for such an early hour."

"I wouldn't say there's any 'a bit' about it. He's sloshed."

"Mmm. Still, he functions rather well."

"That's not a good thing. It must be affecting him. And he's covering up -- he told me he'd only had two glasses of wine."

"You think there's something going on?"

"It would fit with him being unavailable several evenings a week. And lately he . . . I don't know. Seems like every time he starts drinking he gets really drunk. I think he might have a real problem. Wouldn't be the first time, would it? I wish I knew how to confront him on it."

She frowned, concern on her face. "You can't, James. He won't hear it and it will just make him more secretive."

"I know, I've dealt with it before, with other people. I just _wish_ there was something I could do. I really care about him."

She squeezed his arm. "We all do." She gazed sadly at the older man as he checked things, off near the SOCOs. "It's happening again, isn't it?"

"I don't know, I wasn't here the last time, Laura. Does it look familiar?"

She didn't answer, biting her lip. "If you need to talk, James, I'm here, okay?" Her non-answer gave him the response he expected.

* * *

Hathaway was in the office early, as usual. He worked at a few reports, correcting things he didn't see yesterday, adding bits of new information. At last he had one ready to print. When it emerged from the printer, he squared it up and dug out his stapler. He gave it a firm shove and the stapler fell apart in his hands, the two halves skittering across his desk and pinching his fingers.

"Damn!"

He gathered up the pieces and chucked them out, cursing under his breath at its cheap manufacture. _Where does Lewis keep his stapler?_ It was stupid for them to each have one anyway, it wasn't something they used so often as to need two.

He pulled open a couple of Lewis's desk drawers, still not finding the stapler. Then he tugged the bottom drawer of the desk, and his heart plummeted down to his heels. _A pint bottle of brandy, about a quarter gone._

When Lewis arrived at the office in the morning, he seemed unaware of the close scrutiny Hathaway gave him.

_Gait steady, eyes red, . . . definite odor of brandy._ Hathaway realized he probably wouldn't have noticed had he not been observing so closely.

Hathaway kept a quiet eye on him. As the morning wore on, Lewis grew quieter and seemed to be working more slowly. He dropped his pencil twice, and once he dropped an entire file, the contents fluttering over the floor in disarray. Without comment, he stooped and gathered them up. Hathaway could see Lewis's hands shake as he tried to arrange the file properly.

After lunch, Lewis appeared to be working back at his regular pace. He wrote his notes steadily, and when Hathaway handed over the report he had finished, Lewis looked up with focused eyes and took the report. He read it over, signed it, and got up to take it to the Chief Superintendent.

"This is good. Don't know how you crank these out so quickly, Sergeant. Nice work."

As soon as Lewis was out of sight, Hathaway crossed the office and pulled open the bottom drawer of Lewis's desk. The bottle was still there but now it was more than half empty.

* * *

Hathaway took the call out just before eleven, as he was returning to his flat after an evening of practice with his band. A body, suspicious death, near the Radcliffe. He tried Lewis's number, but there was no answer. But he was only a couple of streets from Lewis's flat, so he drove directly there, unsure of what he might find.

There was no answer to his ring, but the door was unlocked. Hathaway entered the flat, calling Lewis's name. The flat was silent. A few lights were on, including the light in the bathroom. The door to that room was open, and with mounting trepidation, Hathaway turned the corner into the room.

He was met with a scene of utter ruin. A towel bar had been pulled from the wall; the towels lay in a heap on the floor. A cabinet was standing open, its contents spilling out, including a bottle of liquid cleaner that had poured out. The pieces of a shattered drinking glass lay in the sink. The lid of the toilet was up and the bowl held a stinking slurry.

Lewis sat on the floor, his back against the wall, a fifth of brandy in his hand. It was nearly empty. The floor and the front of his shirt were wet with vomit, and his chin was slick with it. He seemed to notice Hathaway standing in front of him, his eyes working to focus, but after a moment he gave up and took a swallow from the bottle.

Hathaway set his mouth hard and pulled out his mobile. He dialed Chief Superintendent Innocent.

"Ma'am, I'm afraid you'll have to assign someone else to this body. Inspector Lewis isn't well." He took in her response. "No, Ma'am, he really cannot go anywhere tonight. Sorry."

He rang off and stared at the older man. If only he could see himself in this degraded condition. An idea took form in his head. He thumbed his mobile, putting it in video mode, and pointed it at Lewis.

Lewis seemed completely unaware of his sergeant's presence. His head began to weave, and he spewed more bile and brandy down his front. He made no effort to wipe his face or change position, except to take another swig of brandy. Then he set the bottle down to paw at his belt and zipper. But his fumbling hands were unable to manage in time, and the result was a spreading wetness across the front of his trousers. He gave no sign that he even noticed. He picked up the bottle, tipped it back, and drained it. And he slumped, sodden and reeking, to the floor.

o - o - o


	2. First Try

Lewis arrived in the office at his usual time. His eyes were reddened but he was clean and had shaved. Hathaway wondered how he managed to scrub up so well. _Does he do this every day?_

"Morning, Sergeant." He even sounded cheery. Hathaway shuddered inwardly at the task he had set himself to do.

He waited until Lewis had gotten tea and settled in to work at his computer. At last he took a deep breath, and began.

"Sir, up until now I've kept my mouth shut because it hasn't affected your work. But now it's starting to."

"What's that? You think something's affecting my work?"

"Your drinking. I think you have a problem."

Lewis scowled a little. "Well, I don't, okay? I'd know if I did. I've been there once already, y'know, so I know how it is. There's no problem. Not that it's any of your business anyway, unless it affects my work. Which it doesn't."

"Sir, last night. We got called out. Only, you didn't answer your phone."

Lewis looked surprised. "I must have been asleep. I didn't hear it at all. Did she get someone else to go?"

Hathaway ignored the question. He had his script in his head and would not stray from it.

"I was in the area already, so I went to your flat. You didn't answer, but the door was unlocked so I went in."

Lewis's face darkened at that news.

"This is what I found." He took out his mobile and a thin cord that he used to attach it to Lewis's computer. "You weren't asleep. You were pissed into oblivion."

He started the video. Lewis shut his eyes and turned away.

"_No! Don't you turn away! _You look at yourself, Sir, and see what I had to see last night." Clenched teeth.

Lewis opened his eyes and stared at the horror on his screen. There wasn't much audio, but every now and then he could hear a sort of choked hiccup or a stifled sniffle in the background.

When at last the image froze and darkened, Hathaway stood up.

"_Now look me in the eye and tell me you don't have a problem_."

Lewis did not move. His eyes were riveted on the frozen screen for a long time. Then he moved the cursor to the triangle button in the middle of the image, and clicked it. The terrible scene played again, and Lewis never took his eyes away. He was shivering.

When it was done for the second time, Lewis inhaled deeply. He eyes strayed from the screen and roamed downward and over, fixing on the bottom drawer of his desk.

Hathaway caught the redirection. "If that's what you want, you might as well have it. I know it's in there."

Lewis exhaled, and pulled the drawer open. He took out the bottle, unscrewed the cap, and swallowed deeply. Then he retightened the cap. He rubbed his hand over his face several times, hard. He spoke without looking up.

"What have I become, James? Ah, God, I'm a sorry wreck. The only time I'm not completely miserable is when I'm here, working. I go home and I fall apart. Self-destruct. Only thing that gets me through the night is brandy -- liquid anaesthesia. I've made a mess of me flat." Then, more quietly, "Made a mess of me life."

Hathaway was silent a while. "Are you done feeling sorry for yourself yet? If not, I'll go have a smoke and come back later. I don't need to listen to your self-pity."

Lewis looked at him for the first time since he had viewed the video. His eyes looked hollow, and full of despair. "I need help with this, James." His voice shook.

"I thought that's what I was trying to do." He waited. "Well, what happens next?"

Lewis stared at the bottle in his hand. He tossed it underhanded to Hathaway. "For starters, we get rid of this. Sobriety begins now."

"How did you get sober the last time?"

"I checked into detox. They had a treatment centre right on the island, only a mile or two from the station there." He thought a while. "That's no good, I was in for a month, then. I don't want to miss that much work. And it would get people talking."

"What about counseling?"

"Nah, I can't stand that, talking about what I think is going on in me head." He exhaled loudly. "I'm just going to try to stay sober, every hour of every day."

"That seems like the hard way to do it, Sir, if I may say so."

"I have to do it my way, don't I? Look, can I call you if I need to?"

"Absolutely, Sir. Any time."

Lewis pressed his face into his hands as Hathaway tucked the bottle into his overcoat. No way could he just discard it in the waste bin in their office. He was just in time.

A head appeared around the doorway. "Oh, Lewis, you're here. Feeling better than last night?" Innocent looked concerned.

"Feeling worse, Ma'am."

"Maybe you should go home."

"I'll muddle through, thanks anyway."

By the end of the day, Lewis seemed to be doing pretty well. As they shut down their computers, Lewis held his hand outstretched, palm down. Hathaway could see a pronounced trembling.

Lewis studied it, too. "DTs. God, I hate this part."

"Is that serious? You want me to come home with you? I could help clean up."

"'S'okay. This should be about as bad as it gets. The shakes and the trots. I'll be alright. And I should clean up me own mess. Thanks anyway."

"I'll call, alright? Around ten? If you don't answer, I'm coming over."

"Fine, that'd be good." He turned to leave the office, but paused in the doorway. "Hathaway . . . I'm sorry you had to see that last night. But I guess I'm glad you did."

"No problem, Sir."

o - o - o


	3. A Better Start

Hathaway glanced up at the clock. Lewis was not in yet and nine had come and gone. Still, it wasn't unheard of for him to be late. And when Hathaway had called at the appointed time in the evening, Lewis had sounded upbeat and reported that he wasn't having much trouble staying away from the bottle.

Indeed, he arrived just a few minutes later. But all it took was a once-over for Hathaway to know the rest of Lewis's night had not gone well. He walked in like a defeated man.

"Ohh, Sir, bad night after all?"

Lewis just looked at him sadly. "I didn't make it past eleven. After you rang off . . ."

"What is it? What happens to your thinking when you're by yourself?"

"_I can't do it, alright? _It's hopeless. I can't even make it one day." He sank desolately into his chair. He caught Hathaway's expression after several moments of silence. "_What?_ How can you smile, for God's sake, man?"

"You made it over twelve hours. That's more sobriety than you've had in, what, a month? All you have to do is build on that."

Lewis shook his head. "I'll never be able to make it through the night without the brandy. I get too . . . I dunno, _depressed_ I guess. You know what they say? 'First you take a drink. Then the drink takes a drink. Then the drink takes you.' I'm not strong enough to fight it."

Hathaway looked at him with curiosity. "Why? Why now? You've been fine for years. And if it's the night that gets to you, why drink here, during the day?"

Lewis studied his hands for some time. They held steady. He put them up so Hathaway could see. "Last drink was at half eight this morning. Shakes won't start for a while yet. But when they do, the only thing that steadies me is more brandy."

"Sir, I really think you should see someone, get some help. It's too hard on your own."

"Ah, but I'm not on my own, am I? And you, you have training as a counselor, don't you? Part of your seminary work, I should think, right? So why don't you put that to good use now, 'cos I'm not going to go tell my problems to a total stranger."

_Why not, indeed?_ He'd had all that training and never used it properly. And he knew Lewis was telling the truth about the fact that he would never agree to talk intimately with a stranger.

"Fine, then, Sir. Answer my question. What happened that put you on this downward spiral, when you'd been decently sober for years?"

"That's easy enough. It was a movie on the telly. Two old people in a nursing home. Get together to play cards every now and then. At first, they enjoy talking about themselves, sharing bits of their past, laughing together. It's funny as hell. But then they get into conflict and they shout and he gets violent, even. They're both shockingly lonely and could have had something wonderful between them. But they don't. And in the end, he's a sad, lonely bastard without any love in his life, and it's the thing he needs most."

His eyes were shut by now, his breathing irregular.

"I watched that and saw meself so clearly. Old, sad, and hopelessly lonely. Only the guy in the movie, y'know, he at least had a chance to grab a little warmth but he messed up. My chance died seven years ago." He squeezed his eyes tight, holding his breath for a bit. Then he blinked them open.

"It made me realize. I've got nothing, me. Just spend the rest of me days as a sad sod, alone." He looked beseechingly at his sergeant. "And that's the way I'm going to be until I give up and die." He blinked back fierce tears.

"And that's what gets me every night. I try to stay away from the bottle, but that same realization eventually hits home at some point. And then I just feel so hopeless." He rubbed his forehead.

Hathaway could feel himself trembling. Lewis was laying himself out, baring himself to his sergeant. Completely vulnerable. He would have to rely on all his training to not do any harm here.

He took a deep breath. "What makes you so sure you'll always be lonely? Emotions aren't facts, you know. You don't ever seem to try to get to know anyone. And if anyone tries to touch you, you pull back. It's self-defeating. You can't gain anything if you're not willing to risk a little. You have to take it on faith that there are people who would like your companionship. Trust a little, offer your friendship, and friendship will be returned to you."

Lewis wasn't buying it. "Well, look at me, man. I'm old. And bitter. What could possibly be the attraction for someone else?"

"I admit it's not much to work with. But it certainly doesn't help if you stink of piss and stale brandy."

Lewis twisted a smile at that. "It's possible I'm not at me best just now." Then he grew more serious. "I'd just like to know one or two people I could ring up to go for beers -- er, a cup of coffee, or catch the odd concert."

"I'd go, Sir, if that's any help."

Hathaway could actually see him resisting the snarky remark. Eventually, Lewis's face softened and he gazed at his sergeant earnestly.

"Would you really? Some Saturday or whenever, totally unrelated to work?"

"Of course, Sir. As long as I might call you 'Robbie' on such occasions."

Lewis snorted a little. "You may, and I bet you can't do it. 'Sir' comes out so naturally. I'll buy the next round every time you remember to call me 'Robbie.'" But his smile faded a bit as it occurred to him that there might not be any more rounds for him.

"I like those odds, Sir."

"Well, so that's one person I can knock around with. But what I really need is someone to talk to about how miserable my work life is, thanks to my cheeky sergeant."

"What about Laura?" Hathaway tried to keep his voice neutral. He had miles of suspicions about the feelings between Lewis and her, and not one shred of evidence to back them up.

"Hobson?" He snorted derisively. "I mean, she's a top-rate pathologist. But she'd as soon cut me off at the knees as spend any personal time with the likes of me. She likes to have me around just because I'm so easy to abuse."

There was a long pause while Hathaway attempted to assess how strongly Lewis believed this preposterous idea.

"Sir, it's been my perception that she _enjoys_ your company. Even more so when there's not a dead body present." He grew more quiet. "She knows about your drinking, and it concerns her a great deal."

This was clearly news to Lewis. He cocked his head and squinted one eye. "What are you saying, James?"

He had to be careful here. "All I'm saying is, she is also someone you can call on for a little socializing, or a little help when you need it." He inhaled, and kept going. "You like her, don't you? As a person, I mean, of course."

"Yeah, as a person."

"You've known her a long time."

"Longer than anyone else I know."

"You two can tell each other anything, right? You told me that, once."

Lewis's eyes narrowed. He didn't answer.

Hathaway continued. "Then tell her this. Tell her you need her to be a friend. And don't just hint, say it outright. She won't turn you down, I guarantee it." Of that much he could be certain. "Go now and talk to her. The sooner, the better."

"Yeah, okay, I will. Not getting anything done here, anyway."

He had not been gone long before Chief Superintendent Innocent stepped through the doorway.

"How is he? Better?"

"Erm, yeah, he's feeling better today. Still not one hundred percent, I'd say."

"You're helping him with this?"

Hathaway was puzzled. "I'm not sure I understand your meaning, Ma'am."

"You don't have to be coy, James. I know he's been drinking. Your office was starting to smell like a wine bar. And I did manage to find his poorly-hidden bottle. Is that gone now?"

_She had known all along._ "Ma'am, you knew but you decided not to discipline him for it?" A bit incredulous.

"How could I? There was nothing wrong with his work. And I couldn't think of how it would help him." She straightened. "Well, good luck getting him sorted. Let me know if you need any help. If he needs leave time, he shouldn't hesitate to ask me."

After she left, Hathaway mused to himself how much her attitude toward Lewis had changed since the time he first returned from the Caribbean. _Does she just respect him that much now, or is there something more to it?_

* * *

Doctor Hobson looked up, surprised to see Lewis coming down the hall in her direction.

"Hello, Inspector. What brings you to my Hall of Death this morning?"

"Do you have a minute, Laura? Time for a cup of tea?"

"Sure, just give me a second to change out of my scrubs."

They sat at a small table in the little teashop, fixing their cups just the way they liked them.

"So, what did you want to see me about?" She smiled pleasantly.

He stirred his tea for much longer than was necessary. "Hathaway tells me you're aware of my . . . problem." He looked hopeful that this would satisfy her.

It did not. "What problem is that, Lewis? You need to say it out loud, you know. Don't deny it to yourself, that won't make it go away." She obviously knew to what he was referring.

He snorted. "If it wasn't for denial, my life would be shit."

She studied him, silent and unsmiling.

He blew out his cheeks. "My problem with the drink, okay?"

"Well, I've seen you drown in alcohol before, Robbie. I know what it looks like. I must say, it terrifies me to be seeing it again. But you're climbing out of the pit now?"

"Yeah, Hathaway made me see that it was happening. So I'm trying to dry out. I've made it all of half a day so far."

"Congratulations. It's a good start." Then with more concern, "Shouldn't you be under medical supervision?"

"I'll be fine, _Doctor_."

He sipped his tea a while, lingering over it.

She put her hand on his arm. "Robbie, why did you want to talk to me?"

He bit his lip a moment, then recited the words he practiced on his way over to the morgue. "Laura, right now I need to know that there are people who care about me. That I'm not all alone and don't always have to be by myself. Maybe that's being selfish or insecure, but it's what's driving me to drink. I want someone to call me out of the blue and ask to go for tea or to a football match or for a walk. I want to have things planned that I can look forward to." He looked into his teacup, as if it held the answers he needed. "_I'm so bloody lonely all the time_."

When he looked up, he was surprised to see her eyes were brimming. "Will you just be a friend to me, Laura? That's all I want."

She blinked several times, regaining control of her emotions. "Of course, Robbie. I _have_ been your friend, all along. But I should have done more to show it. You shouldn't have had to ask like this."

She held his arm as they walked back to the morgue. "I'm proud of you, working through this. Call me tonight if you want to talk some more, okay? I mean it." She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. He was smiling as he turned and walked back to the station.

By the end of the workday, he was in a better mood than he had been in a long time. Hathaway had resisted priming him for information about how his meeting with Hobson had gone. The fact was, he didn't need to. The success of the morning was clear in the way the man walked.

As they shut down their computers for the night, Hathaway gave Lewis a long look.

"You going to be okay tonight, Sir?"

"I don't know, really. Odds are better than last night, I should think."

"_Promise_ me you'll call if you even start to feel the pull. That's an order, Sir."

Lewis smiled. "Yes, Sergeant." Hathaway kept looking at him. Lewis became grave. "I will. I won't let it get so bad tonight."

* * *

Hathaway sprinted from the bathroom, scrambling for his phone. But it stopped ringing half a second before he switched it on. _Damn!_ He checked the missed call: _from Lewis_. He quickly punched the callback button, but the phone on the other end rang without being answered. _Double damn!_ He grabbed his keys and headed for the door.

There was no answer to the doorbell. Hathaway tried the door and found it unlocked. He entered, calling for Lewis. Two paces into the flat, his foot crunched something on the floor. A scrap of plastic. Then he saw that there were more bits of plastic and metal scattered across the floor, some large enough to be identifiable as a shattered phone handset. He also noted a small dent in the wall above the collection of pieces.

Alarmed now, he hurried further into the flat. He found what he was seeking in the front room.

Lewis lay on the floor in a fetal position, trembling, his arms wrapped around himself. A brandy bottle, about a quarter empty -- but capped -- stood nearby on the low table.

Hathaway crouched down next to him. "Sir? Inspector Lewis? Can you hear me, Sir? Sorry I missed your call. I came as soon as I could."

Lewis looked up and focused on him. Relief filled his face. Struggling, he pulled himself to a sitting position and then threw his arms around his sergeant, squashing him in a bear hug. "Thank God you're here, James."

Hathaway helped him stand up, and walked him toward the door. "You need a change of scenery, Sir. Come on, you can kip on my sofa tonight. What happened, anyway?"

Lewis didn't answer immediately, but just looked at the floor, shivering. At last, he explained. "I called Hobson but she didn't answer. Then I called you, and you didn't answer, either."

"Sorry, Sir. I was in the loo. But I tried to return your call immediately, and you didn't pick up."

"Yeah, well, I smashed the phone, didn't I? Not the smartest move. Not like it learned its lesson or anything."

"You've had better ideas. Grab your clothes for tomorrow and let's get out of here."

* * *

The following morning, they worked quietly at their desks for a while. Then, without warning, Lewis sat up straight. "Yes!" he hissed under his breath.

He had Hathaway's attention. "'Yes' what?"

"I made the first twenty-four hours." Hathaway looked at the clock. It was half past eight.

"What about last night? Didn't you . . . I thought you had some before I got there? The bottle was on the table . . . and you were shaking so badly."

"No, I didn't have any. That bottle was there from the night before. And the shaking was from withdrawal. I made it, James. I got through the night without a drink." He looked happy at this tiny, yet profound, accomplishment. "I wouldn't have, without your help."

Hathaway just smiled.

A half hour later, the phone on Lewis's desk rang. It was Doctor Hobson.

"Robbie, I'm so sorry I missed your call. I was stuck on the motorway half the night and my charge had run out. I just got your message now. Are you okay?" Her voice betrayed her anxiety.

"I'm okay, yeah. Hathaway came over and rescued me."

"Thank heaven for James. Can I make it up to you tonight?"

"Sure, you can buy me a drink."

There was a significant silence.

He realized his mistake. "Er, maybe a cup of coffee? God, I can't get used to this."

"Hmm. I know just the thing. I'll pick you up at a quarter of eight. Casual. Okay?"

"What are we doing?"

"It'll be a surprise. See you."

She picked him up at the appointed hour and drove through the city streets. They ended up at the Magdalen Bridge Boathouse.

"Punting? Brilliant! I've never done this, all these years I've lived here."

"I haven't, either. Never had anyone to go with." She gave him a meaningful look.

They settled together on the seat and he put his arm around her. The punt's chauffeur pushed the boat into the mainstream and they glided off along the dark water. Despite the impenetrable blackness of the depths, the light of the lanterns dangling from the prow sparkled brilliantly, like a shower of tiny shooting stars scattered across the surface of the water, each one waiting to be wished upon. Lewis sighed happily as Laura snuggled closer. He was going to make it. He was going to be alright.

o - o - o


	4. Unlocking the Door

They floated along, the espresso water gurgling against the sides of the punt. He glanced down and caught her gazing up at him.

"What?"

"You look happy. I haven't seen you look happy in years."

"Happy? I wouldn't say it's that, exactly." He scowled in thought. "Content, maybe? Calm?" A pause. "At peace. Not so giddy as to be 'happy.' Are you happy?"

"Not quite." A second or two passed. "Do you know what would make me happy?"

He arched his eyebrows, trying to think if she had said something earlier that he should have picked up on, but drawing a blank. He looked down at her. "Give over. What?"

"This." She leaned up and briefly brushed his lips with hers, then studied his reaction, smiling slightly.

Astonishment filled his face. A thousand thoughts flew through his mind at once, and he could only comprehend a few of them. _Had he liked that? Why had he not known how she felt? Did he feel the same way? Was she playing with him? Should he kiss her back?_

He focused on the last of these fleeting ideas. "What about this?" And he tipped his head and found her lips with his, lingering and tugging a little on her lower lip before pulling apart.

Closed eyes, a blissful smile. "_Very_ happy."

He leaned his shoulders back and stared up at the trees passing overhead without seeing them. He blew out his cheeks in a long exhale. "Wow."

Her eyes flew open. "Please don't tell me I've made a mistake." There was genuine concern in her voice.

"No, no. I liked it." That much he had decided. The rest of it would take him a while to sort out. Further reflection. And he found that some of his questions already had answers, he just had been unaware of them to that point. _How long had he felt this way about her and not even known?_

"I, erm . . . I like you, Laura. More than I thought. I mean, as more than a friend. I never . . ." His voice became quiet. "I never realized. I mean, not 'til just now." He winced a little. _Oh, that was smooth. Nicely articulated, Robbie_.

She relaxed a little, snuggling into him a bit more. "Well, that probably explains why I could never tell for certain how you felt."

He thought about that. "Y'mean, you've been wondering for a while about how I felt?"

"Mmm."

That really gave him pause. "How long have you . . . liked me?" _Stop blundering about, man!_

Her eyes brightened. "Do you remember George Daley?"

He frowned, scouring his memory unsuccessfully.

She could see he wasn't connecting. "The Karen Anderson case? That time you were nearly killed in Wytham Woods?"

"Ahh, yeah. Wasn't George Daley the gardener chap who was found dead at Blenheim?"

"That's the one."

"That was your first case with us, wasn't it? Aw, I remember you marched up and took the starch out of Morse with about three words. I could hardly keep me face straight." He grinned at the recollection. "Morse didn't know what to make of you." He, on the other hand, had felt an immediate camaraderie with the sassy young doctor.

It was several moments before her point finally hit its mark. His mouth dropped open, the smile slipping from his face.

_What, all that time? It had to be fifteen years!_ He squared to face her, plainly bewildered. "You never said," he stated simply.

"Well, you were happily married, and I wasn't going to go and ruin that."

"Fair enough. But I've been _not_ married for seven years, and you still kept mum."

"Then you were grieving. And then you were gone." She said the last very quietly.

He grew quiet as well. "I came back, Laura."

"You were _still_ grieving. And I decided that if you were ever going to reciprocate, it would be only when you were ready. I wasn't going to push you into it."

"Ah. That was your mistake. I need a push every now and then. Val could have told you that. _She_ was the one who proposed to _me_." It occurred to him that he was saying this without feeling any pain. He kissed the top of her head and smiled.

"I'm ready now. Only . . ." He glanced around. "Hold that thought until we're off the river."

* * *

They were in each other's arms as soon as she set down her bag and kicked off her shoes. He had been nervous on the drive back to her house, wondering if they would sit around and make small talk first or what exactly would happen when. But as soon as she got the door unlocked, he knew that they both wanted the same thing.

He kissed her with his mouth open and she took the cue, tasting him deeply and letting him respond. After a long time, he pushed her back a little, breaking them apart. He held her by the shoulders just to look at her face. He was ecstatically happy.

She glanced down and back up, one eyebrow raised. He blushed a little. "Just ignore that."

"Ooh, I don't want to ignore that." She stroked him through the fabric of his trousers. It was electric.

Then she pulled his head down so she could whisper in his ear. "Make love to me tonight, Robbie. I've been waiting for this so long."

She led him to her bedroom and switched on a lamp. He undressed her gently and confidently. She fumbled a little, working on the buttons of his shirt. And when she hesitated before taking his belt in hand, it dawned on him that she was nervous.

"Hey. Shh, it's okay." He wrapped his arms around her, and just held her close. The softness of her skin, her warmth, her body against his. "Look, I'm feeling a little shy, meself. I've only ever been with Val. Haven't been with anyone since. And she was my first, y'know."

She studied his eyes and inhaled. "And you're _my_ first."

His eyes grew large. "Whoa, seriously? Wow, you know how to put the pressure on." He furrowed his brow. "How'd you make it this long without . . . y'know . . ." He trailed off.

"Well, when you're in medical school, there's no time for any of that. And then I was trying to find a position, and I really didn't settle down until I started working here. And once my heart was set on you, which was pretty much immediately, no one else caught my fancy."

"You're amazing, Laura." He kissed her again, slowly and deeply, not as needy as before. This time, she broke them apart. Serious concern weighed in her expression.

"Robbie . . . I don't suppose you have a condom." It was clear that she did not.

"Uh, no. It's not something I've needed in a long time. Me and Val . . . well, after our son was born, I had . . . y'know. A vasectomy. So we wouldn't have to worry about being careful after that. So, uh . . . we don't need one, right? 'Cos I know I don't have any STDs."

He was rewarded with a beaming smile. "A vasectomy. Brilliant." She kissed him again, her tongue seeking his, this time with increasing urgency. He felt that same urgency and his erection, hard against her belly, began to seep.

"I'm afraid this might be a little quicker than I'd like, but I'll try to be gentle, okay?"

He laid her face up on the bed and stretched out beside her. Propping himself up with one arm, he kissed the hollow of her neck, her breastbone, her belly, and just above her tangle of hair. Then he ran his tongue in a line in the reverse direction, ending with a kiss. She shivered in pleasure. His gaze roamed the length of her. "God, you're beautiful." She smiled.

He felt a little odd coaching her with the lessons he and Val had learned together over the years, but thought it best to be up front. "You need to talk to me, okay? Tell me what you like or don't like. Harder, not so hard, faster, slower, here, not there . . . Like that, okay? Show me what feels good, take my hand or my cock or whatever and move it how you like, right?" He smiled a little when her eyes widened at his choice of words. "If you're more comfortable with medical terminology, that's fine, too."

She smiled openly, a little flirty. "I think I might like hearing you talk dirty, Robbie."

"Oh, aye, well, I can do that, too. But not this time. This time should be nice."

He moistened his fingers with saliva and slipped his hand between her legs, penetrating her with one finger to check her readiness. She inhaled with the intrusion.

"Oh, sorry, I should have said." He was used to a partner with whom talk was unnecessary after so many years. He'd be learning all over again.

He got to his knees and spread her legs, then knelt between them. Resting his weight on his left arm, he used his right hand to position himself, ready to enter her, then brought his right arm up to shoulder level, parallel to his left, for additional support. He was looking directly into her eyes.

"You sure you want to do this? There's no taking it back, y'know."

"Don't be ridiculous. This is one thing I know I've wanted for years."

"Okay." He smiled softly. "You ready?"

She nodded.

"I love you, Laura."

"I love you, too, Robbie."

She arched her back to meet him, pushing back against the pressure of his entry. He went in steadily as far as he could and then he rested for a moment, closing his eyes and breathing through his mouth. The sensation was dizzying. It had been so long for him. And she felt so good. At last, he inhaled deeply and gazed down at her.

"You okay so far? Any pain?"

"I'm fine, Robbie." She looked a bit worried. "Are _you_ okay?"

He ran his tongue along the edge of his top teeth. "Huh. I haven't been this good in years." Then a hungry look came into his eyes and he began rocking his hips, in and out. "Right. Let's do this thing."

He tried to build the rhythm slowly but his urgency won out and soon he was pounding into her, frantic with need. His climax hit him at full speed and he cried out, again and again, until it receded, leaving him spasming with late contractions and panting heavily.

When he regained control of his breathing, he opened his eyes and gazed at her. She was panting, too, her eyes wide with amazement. He smiled very slowly.

"You are one hot pathologist, Doctor. Fantasic."

That made her laugh. "Well, now I know what all the fuss is about. That was incredible."

"Yeah? Did you . . . ? Y'know."

She laughed again. "Don't get so technical. I might be a rookie at this, but, based on descriptions I've read, I'd have to say, yes, I did 'y'know.' Fireworks and all that."

He smiled and kissed her, long and gently.

He was able to roll them over without sliding out of her. They cuddled that way, not speaking, each rather overwhelmed by the evening's events. Within ten minutes, they were both sound asleep.

* * *

When she awoke, she was still lying on top of him. He had slipped out of her during the night, but now he was hard again and prodding her, as if seeking entrance. She looked up at him and saw that he was nonetheless still asleep.

She sat up on her knees, holding herself up off his belly. She reached her hand down and took hold of him, guiding him into position beneath her. Then she lowered herself onto him, the penetration eased by her being slick with fluid from their earlier coupling.

She started riding him, pumping up and down slowly. But she felt a bit alone without the close warmth of his body, and she leaned forward, resting on her arms, watching to see when he woke up.

In short order, his hips were thrusting in response to hers. But his eyes remained closed. Then he increased the tempo, his hands digging into the bed. Suddenly, he cried out and bucked so hard she was nearly thrown off him.

"God, you feel so good, Val. I missed you so much. I missed you, Val . . ." His eyes opened, and then focused. He stared at Laura. Eventually, he mastered his breathing, still staring, mouth slightly agape.

He looked a bit abashed. "That was weird. I mean _nice_, but . . ." His eyes narrowed. "I called you 'Val,' didn't I?"

"'S'okay."

"Sorry. I was having a dream . . ."

"I know. I don't mind. In fact, I'm rather flattered."

He snorted and pulled her toward him, kissing her a little sloppily. "Did I mention I love you, Laura?"

"Mmm, not yet today. And more than once a day is good. Just so I don't get insecure about it."

But he didn't answer. And he was trembling a little. She pulled back and looked at him, concerned. His eyes were shining with tears, though he was so far successfully keeping them from spilling out.

"Robbie? What is it?"

"I'm fine, I'm . . . incredibly happy. It was like having her back again, being able to make love to her one more time. That was a real gift, Laura. Thank you."

"You're welcome." She kissed him. "You scared me for a moment there." She abruptly looked around. "And now I'm going to scare you. It's half past eight, did you know?"

"_Bloody hell!_ I've got to get to work!"

o - o - o


	5. A New Start

Hathaway could not concentrate on his report. Too much of his mind was occupied with worry. So far Lewis had succeeded in getting through only one night without drink, and only then because Hathaway had shown up at his flat and pulled him out of there. Laura wouldn't have known how close Lewis got to the edge at night. And what if she had gotten called out for some work matter? Or dismissed him at the end of the evening without ensuring his stability? Worse, what if something had come up and she had stood him up?

Hathaway couldn't stop fretting. Lewis had shut off his mobile and didn't answer his home phone, though Hathaway wasn't sure if Lewis had replaced the broken handset yet. Nor had Lewis answered the door when James went to check the flat, and for once it was locked.

_Get a hold of yourself. You're mother-henning him too much, he's a big boy._

Maybe Laura had kept him at her place. He might have decided that he was still too fragile to be on his own all night, and just stayed over at hers. She had a spare room, after all. A lot of house for one woman, come to that. Yeah, that was probably it. He was probably fine.

_But then, where the hell is he? _They had an all-day meeting at nine that morning, he and Lewis had talked about it the day before. Mandatory for all rank, only the constables were allowed to get out of it. Probably some dire budget thing, as if they could do anything about that. Neither had been able to come up with an elegant way to get out of going.

At five minutes to the hour, he gave up waiting and headed down the corridor to the assembly hall. Just before he turned the corner, he saw Lewis come sprinting along, heading for their office. He was wearing the spare suit that Hathaway knew he kept in his locker downstairs.

He waved at Hathaway. "I just have to grab me razor and shave. You go on, I'll be right there."

Seeing him did not assuage his worries. He looked rough, James thought, though maybe that was just due to needing a shave. Disheveled. What had happened that he hadn't been able to dress at home? They'd be unable to talk during the meeting, but Hathaway had to find out how he was. And he couldn't wait until the meeting was over because he was leaving early for an eye-doctor appointment. He wouldn't have a chance to check on Lewis until close to six o'clock. And by then, Lewis could be pretty far downhill if left on his own.

He fidgeted as the meeting got underway. The Chief Super caught his eye, and mouthed a question at him: _Where's Lewis?_ Hathaway tipped his head toward the door. _On his way_. She rolled her eyes exasperatedly.

Lewis slipped in and found a seat near the back. He knew Hathaway would be dying for information, and knew that because of the eye doctor appointment, James wouldn't be able to simply wait for the meeting to be over. He smiled to himself. Laura had already okayed his plan. Then he straightened his face and glanced up at Hathaway, across the room.

Hathaway looked straight at him with concern followed by a questioning look. Lewis responded with a puzzled expression. _Is he muddled, or is he playing with me?_ Hathaway discreetly made a drinking gesture, putting his hand to his mouth. Lewis scowled a bit, and gave a little shake of his head. _That's good news._

Hathaway held a fist up high enough for Lewis to see. He gave a thumbs-up sign, turned it around for a thumbs-down, and then sideways for so-so. And he flashed his questioning look.

Lewis checked around to see if they were being observed. The Chief Super kept glancing at them, but she could not have seen their sign language from where she sat. Lewis appeared to pay attention for about five seconds, then glanced at Hathaway to ensure he was watching. He flashed a quick two thumbs up and a small grin.

Well! So he had made it through the night successfully! That got Hathaway to wondering about getting a little more detail. He shot a curious look at Lewis, arching his eyebrows and cocking his head. Lewis responded with a look of bewilderment, as if he couldn't decipher what James was after.

Hathaway pulled out his mobile, keeping it low, and sent Lewis a text message comprised of question marks. He watched as Lewis responded to the tingle in his pocket, pulled out his mobile, and punched a couple buttons. The reply didn't come. He shot a glance back across the room, and Lewis put up his hands in a helpless gesture. _He still hasn't mastered texting. Right._

Hathaway bore an expression of extreme frustration. When he saw Lewis return with one of incompletely suppressed amusement, he knew he was being taken for a ride. He was certain Lewis figured out that the word Hathaway mouthed in his direction had two syllables and began with a "b." And it earned James a look of concession from the older man, complete with melodramatic eyerolling.

Lewis held his left hand up just high enough for Hathaway to see. His thumb and index finger formed a tight circle. He made sure Hathaway got that, and checked around again to spot any observers.

Satisfied there weren't any, he held up his right hand, index finger extended, and scanned the room again. Finally, he inserted that finger into the left hand's circle, pistoning it in and out at an increasingly quick tempo. Onto that, he tacked a sly smile.

Lewis was richly rewarded with an incredulous, and slightly envious, gaping look from his sergeant. He couldn't keep the smugness off his face, arching his eyebrows twice in rapid succession. It was really more fun this way, with Hathaway completely unable to respond to the news verbally. Cruel, but fun. He couldn't wait to get Hathaway's call that evening.

* * *

The meeting was over and they all filtered back to their offices. Lewis watched to see when Innocent returned. He took a deep breath, and knocked on her door.

"Oh Lewis, yes, come in. How are you feeling?"

He looked chastened. "Better, Ma'am. I'm much better. I . . . erm . . . I want to apologize for my conduct over the past month or so. I know I haven't been performing at my best, and that James has had to take on some of my work for me."

"Yes, I had noticed."

He squirmed a little. This was difficult, but he knew he had to do it. "Then I expect you know it was because I was . . . drinking too much. It always shows more than the person thinks, doesn't it?"

She smiled patiently and said nothing.

"Anyway, it got out of hand, and thankfully James . . . well, he shoved my nose in it. I appreciate that you haven't reprimanded or disciplined me so far."

"I haven't had to, Lewis, there was nothing wrong with your work."

"Thank you, Ma'am, but I know I wasn't at me best, and I should be. I'm working on recovery now, but it's a challenge every day. And, well, that brings up the second thing I wanted to ask you about."

He shifted back and forth on his feet, extremely uncomfortable.

"Something that I think is going to help me a lot is . . . erm, I'm in a new . . . relationship." He rushed on before she could say anything. "But I want to make sure it's not something that's . . . well, against regulations."

"We're not talking about your cat, are we?"

"No, Ma'am." Not willing to name names, she concluded.

She thought a moment. "Well, the regulations forbid intimate relationships between senior officers and their junior officers, and between any police officer and known suspects in cases on which the officer is assigned. Also, the regulations 'discourage' intimate relationships between any officers employed at the same station, particularly where they are of differing rank, and between officers and convicted felons."

She appraised his reaction. "Are we good so far?"

He concentrated. "What about a person whose reports affect my decisions about a case? Not exactly a co-worker, but . . . ?"

"You'll have to use your own judgment in that situation, Lewis. Any time an intimate relationship adversely affects your work, it needs to be addressed. If not, there's no problem."

He exhaled in relief. She noticed that he did not correct her assumption that this new relationship was intimate.

"Thank you, Ma'am. I appreciate your time."

He turned and was halfway through the door when she added,

"I'm sure you and Laura will be very happy together."

o – o – o


End file.
